


interlude

by iimpavid



Series: a violent tongue for violent deeds [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied Auto-Cannibalism, Quenya, Thangorodrim, Torture, overall abuse of the quenya language, sauron's terrible sense of humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-05-17 08:45:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14829083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iimpavid/pseuds/iimpavid
Summary: spend a few minutes with maedhros in his cell at thangorodrim





	1. Chapter 1

the cells of thangorodrim were cold, their air unforgiving in its damp and foul vapor. incoherent moaning and screaming arose from some corridors. grim silence permeated others. none of the bodies kept alive there knew peace.

maedhros hung by his chained wrists, a prelude of things to come, in the center of his cell. gothmog had left him alone with his blistering skin to reconsider the terms of his imprisonment, whatever those may have been. between one beating and the next he had forgotten. he knew only that he could give his enemies nothing, not even his life.

the cell opened but without the sound of footfall. only the creeping dread of silence and malice that went before the deceiver. “it’s a shame to ruin the symmetry of that face,” sauron cupped maedhros’s swollen cheek in a blessedly cool hand, “you should be punished for forcing us to do it,russandol.”

maedhros spat a mouthful of bloody saliva into his face. broken pieces of maedhros’ teeth, the remains of those gothmog had cracked and pulled, slid down his alabaster cheek. maedhros, with a wet, rasping breath ordered, “be gone from my sight, _hrúsoa_.”

“ah, no, no, no, no. not quite.” sauron did not move his hand (under it the throbbing pain in maedhros’ jaw quieted to a hateful silence) he only lifted the other to take up a hank of maedhros’s hair and wipe his own face clean with it, “it is you that is the filthy one. but you don’t have to be, pitya _russandólnya_ , we could fix you right up. my master and i. we could make you whole again--” he was not speaking only of maedhros’s wounds, no, there was more promise in his voice than that-- “wouldn’t you like that?”

maedhros was almost too busy coughing to attend to him. deep, rattling convulsions of his belly and chest by lungs that had, it seemed, forgotten they weren’t meant to breathe fluid. sauron let him. folded his hands and waited patiently as if he were simply waiting for maedhros to formulate an answer in polite conversation.

eventually, maedhros obliged him: “bring me to your master. i will dispatch the both of you to the void at once.”

sauron blinked at him as if he did not believe his own ears. then he inhaled, his eyes dancing with mirth, held his breath. pressed a hand to his lips then raised the other to maedhros, bidding him to be quiet and wait while sauron rode out the laughter quaking his shoulders and bringing tears to his eyes. even the third eye set in gold-threaded scar tissue on his forehead seemed to weep with laughter.

at length and with no small struggle sauron composed himself. “oh, you do have the best ideas, russandólnya, yes, i think we should do that very thing. come down from there, why don’t you.”

bidden by sauron’s will alone the chain dropped from the ceiling.

maedhros fell, unable to hold himself up on such short notice. the manacles released. he did not quite recognize his hands for what they were, bloodless and raw and frozen in clawed shapes. he stared at his hands as sauron glided away on silent feet. “come along and don’t tarry.”

without a shred of desire to do so, maedhros found himself standing and stumbling after him, out of the cell and down the hall.

“melkor dislikes his work being interrupted so it will be better if you…” he paused to purse his lips together around more laughter— “if you dispatch us quickly.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had a literal dream about this scene and got out of bed just so I could write it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stephanie Meyer eat your heart out.

Chained to what can only be an altar, Maedhros howls. He’s only just begun to starve, it will get worse than this he knows, because there is still meat enough left on his thighs for Sauron to cut away. A solid handful of muscle gripped tight and sliced clean off. Glistening black sinew dripping in Sauron’s slender fingers.

It should be red, Maedhros knows this, but his vision has gone cold and greyscale.

Sauron inspected the quivering meat for a long moment while Maedhros sobbed, great ugly heaving that was mostly dry. It pulled at his face, this inborn grief for his own body. “Now, what I don’t understand, is how you can’t just ignore this. Your pain tolerance is incredible. You’re bound to that little body of yours, of course, but it wants so desperately to be kept together— doesn’t it get tiring?”

He was careful, in light of the body’s fragility, to regrow was would keep him alive. He couldn’t have Maedhros giving up on his oath after just a few severed arteries, a little tissue necrosis. The hypothesis he truly wanted to test was whether Feanor’s poor sons could survive pain and starvation indefinitely. It muddied the data some, testing for both at once, but his supply of Feanorions was short and some concessions had to be made.

He licked along the raw muscle striations just for the pleasure of fresh blood.

“Oh, how rude of me-- are you hungry, Maedhros?”

Some orc had taught him to swear in Sauron’s own tongue. " _I want nothing from you, you inbred pig-fucker._ " It was even more beautiful beautiful, shaped by that dry tongue and broken teeth and he smiled to hear it, despite the intended insult.

“I know you’re starving, Maedhros, I can count your ribs and trace the cartilage between them besides. I think you must be hungry.”

With his free hand he cauterized the gaping wound on Maedhros’ leg— it drew a more interesting sound from him than the howling, animal and weak in his chest and so delectable—

Sauron paused, considering the red-hot flame of his palm. Then, he smiled.

It took some doing to cook the meat of Maedhros’ thigh just right. Browned and seared on the outside, succulent, cooked just past blue in the juicy center. The sort of fine steak he might accept at his own table if he were absolutely required to eat anything at all.

“Forgive me, Russandol, I should have realized you wouldn’t want to eat something raw.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone left wondering: yes, our darling Maitimo does have to eat it. Eventually.
> 
> I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not. 
> 
> Lemme know what y'all think. ;)


End file.
